


Of Bombs, Brothers, and Broken Promises

by SabbyStarlight



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Sorry, Suicidal Thoughts, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 09:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: Something was slipped into his IV line and a soothing coolness spread through his veins, slowly tugging him back to sleep.  Mac stared up at Riley with bleary eyes, wiping her own tears away with the sleeve of her shirt.  “He promised he would be the one.”  He whispered.  “The one who wouldn’t leave me.”  And with the news of a broken promise from the man who had gone from being his partner to his friend to his brother, Mac succumbed to the darkness again.





	Of Bombs, Brothers, and Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all! I know there are so many theories as to how this is actually going to play out, and there are a lot of good fics about it too. But I have come to the conclusion that for me, if Jack is leaving the only possible way he can exit the show without it being completely OOC and abandoning Mac, is for him to be killed off. So I know I have talked to some of you about if I should do this and honestly I can’t believe I actually wrote it. I have never been able to read death fics, let alone write one myself, and yet, here we are. I’ve had this idea floating around since pretty much the moment it was made official that George is leaving but I didn’t want to write it. Writing this would make it seem too real. But this is real. It’s happening. And I have had absolutely zero inspiration to write anything since then and anytime I would try these scenes kept popping up of Mac’s dealing with Jack’s death. So many ideas. So I thought I would give in and write them out and see if maybe once I got this out of my head I could go back to writing our boys the way they are supposed to be. Together.

Part One

It said a lot about how messed up Mac’s life was that when he finally woke up the first distinguishable thought that went through his mind was that he had, once again, found himself regaining consciousness in Phoenix’s medical ward. He’d had more than his fair share of stays in hospitals (some of which hadn’t been entirely deserving of that title) across the world but he recognized Phoenix’s immediately. The grey of the walls that strategically coordinated with the steel blue industrial curtains, uncomfortable chairs and mass-produced paintings that hung on the walls, all highlighted by the brightness of the fluorescent lights Mac found himself squinting against. It had been designed, like the rest of the Phoenix building, sleek and modern but no amount of professional design could mask the fact that the four walls he found himself surrounded by were, at their core, a hospital room. 

He debated rolling over, or at the very least turning his head, taking note of the soreness that was making itself known the more he woke up. Already planning to jokingly ask Jack if it was normal to be able to identify the hospital one was in immediately upon regaining consciousness before having the older man explain what he had done to end up injured yet again. His partner was always there, hunched over in one of those chairs asleep or playing the trivia game on his phone Bozer had gotten Jack hooked on; They were both attempting, futilely, to beat Mac’s high score. Either way, Mac knew that the look of relief on his partner’s face when he saw him awake would be worth any pain moving caused. He wasn’t even really hurting, just sore, which lead him to think that maybe he had been asleep for a couple of days. But when he finally talked himself into turning his head and found Riley, not Jack, sitting in the chair at his bedside, his mind went blank. 

Riley, who was curled up in the chair, chin resting on knees drawn up to her chest, barefoot and wearing a pair of black leggings and the oversized sweatshirt Mac knew she kept in her Phoenix locker to change into after a training session. Her eyes, slightly red-rimmed and missing their usual alertness were staring blearily past Mac’s bed at the dark window on the far wall. She hadn’t even noticed that he was awake. 

“Ri?” He asked quietly, not wanting to startle her. “You okay?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to ask you that.” She answered automatically, a smile turning the corners of her mouth upward until a sudden jolt that seemed to wrack her whole body erased the smile instantly. “Mac.” 

“Yeah,” He went to prop himself up on his elbows but gave in when he noticed the sling immobilizing his left arm, collapsing back into the hospital bed. The movement caused his headache to double. “What the hell happened. Where’s Jack?” 

“You don’t… you don’t remember?” She asked hesitantly and when Mac shook his head no her eyes filled with tears. 

“Damn it.” She cursed, running her hands over her face, a move that would have smeared her makeup had she been wearing any. “They said there was a chance but I was hoping that if it did… God, I didn’t want to be here for this.” 

At that point all traces of blissful unconsciousness left Mac’s mind, leaving only bitter warning signs in their wake. Personal discomfort the least of his worries, he sat up fully to take stock of the hospital room. A smaller one, he noticed. Not the double room with two beds the medical staff at Phoenix had learned over the years to always place Mac and Jack in together if they ended up there at the same time. “Riley where is he?” 

“Okay, just take a breath.” She instructed, leaning forward and placing a resisting hand on Mac’s shoulder. “The blast knocked you unconscious. There was major swelling on your brain, Mac. They had to keep you unconscious until it went down. It’s been almost a week. But that’s nowhere near long enough for those broken ribs to heal so lay back down.” 

“Blast?” Mac asked, letting Riley carefully get him settled. “What blast? Where's Jack?”

Her eyes closed as if she couldn't stand to see his reaction, before softly speaking. “He's gone, Mac.”

Mac shook his head, not allowing himself to understand. “Gone like, went home to take a shower? Or grab something to eat?” He paused to take a breath, mind reeling. “Or he's off catching whoever did this, right? Built the bomb? If there was a blast someone had to build a bomb... Tell me that's what you mean, Riley because he wouldn't…” His voice trailed off as thoughts, despite his best efforts to keep them out, wormed their way through his mind and Riley attempted to keep him laying in bed. 

“No.” He struggled against Riley’s resisting hands, the movement triggering the many monitors around him to begin sounding. “Don’t try to tell me’s he’s dead, he can’t be dead.”

“Mac you need to calm down.” She insisted, sparing a glance towards the hospital room door where hurried footsteps were making their way closer. 

“I don’t need to calm down, I need Jack!” He screamed, choking back a sob. Tears filled his eyes so quickly he didn’t even notice the nurse that had entered the room. “He’s not dead. He wouldn’t leave me.” 

Something was slipped into his IV line and a soothing coolness spread through his veins, slowly tugging him back to sleep. Mac stared up at Riley with bleary eyes, wiping her own tears away with the sleeve of her shirt. “He promised he would be the one.” He whispered. “The one who wouldn’t leave me.” And with the news of a broken promise from the man who had gone from being his partner to his friend to his brother, Mac succumbed to the darkness again. 

He didn’t know how long he slept, just that it was dark when his eyes closed and sunlight was streaming through the hospital window when they opened again. Riley was still sitting in the chair next to him though. 

“I’m so sorry, Mac.” She said when she realized he was awake, still staring past him at the window. “So, so sorry.” 

Mac’s eyes filled with tears again. “Please tell me that was just a nightmare?” He pleaded. “That he’s going to walk through that door any minute?”

She shook her head solemnly, clearly having already had time to process what, for Mac, was a fresh wound. “I wish I could.” 

“What happened?” He asked, voice breaking. “You said it was a bomb? What…”

Shattered images, broken and disjointed, clearly out of order flashed in front of his eyes as if he were reliving them in that instant. Heat, a blistering explosion flinging him like a ragdoll. The cold and dampness of being underground, a single room constructed in the middle, out of place amongst the earth surrounding it. The haunting echo of a lock clicking shut with him on the wrong side of the door. A glimpse of the bomb, the timer quickly ticking down, numbers, far too few of them, casting an eerie green glow throughout the small room. His partner peering back at him through the small window built into the door, a sad smile on his face and a hand raised to the window, fingers closed into a fist pressed against the glass. “One more fist bump for the road?” The room was soundproofed but Mac had no issues understanding the words. The sharp smack of his head against something solid as the inferno faded to black, the flames licking dry the tears streaming down his face.

“No.” He whispered, looking up at Riley through swimming eyes. 

Her strength deflated as she sat down beside him, hip against his leg, and picked up his hand, holding it between both of hers. “It was the Ghost.” She said finally, breaking through the silence. “Phoenix got an email from Eileen. Untraceable, even for me, saying that she had reason to believe that her father had another bomb left out there. That she was tracking it down.” 

“The one he built for me.” Mac interrupted, staring down at their intertwined hands, not sure whose were shaking harder. 

Riley nodded. “Matty cut a deal with her. If she was successful in locating the bomb Phoenix would wipe her slate clean, not just with us but with all agencies looking for her. Give her a chance for a fresh start.”

“I don’t understand.” Mac began scanning the room frantically, just waiting for his partner to appear. “If we found it then why… Why couldn’t I disarm it?” Jack’s voice echoed through his mind, words from years ago but as clear as if they had been spoken only yesterday. This is what the Army trained you for, you can do this in your sleep! “Why am I even alive?” 

“Comms went out as soon as you and Jack went underground.” She explained. “So we don’t really know much, but Matty has the best of the best combing through the scene and from what they can tell there was a room built around the bomb. A containment room, they’re calling it.” 

“To minimize the blast. Why would he build the bomb in a containment room?” His mind was reeling until a memory from that night resurfaced again, the sound of a lock caused the tears he had been blinking back to flow freely. “Why would Jack lock himself in with it?” 

“Do you remember where it was?” She asked softly.

Mac shook his head. “Don’t remember much.” 

“Mission City, Mac. He chose Mission City.” She said the words carefully, not able to meet his eyes. “Underground, beneath where the football stadium used to be. Some twisted poetic parallel. From what we can tell it was a trap for you.” She paused, biting her lip. “Let the bomb blow, taking your entire hometown or…”

“Or take me out by locking myself in with it.” Mac finished for her. 

“From what’s left of the room it was a one-way lock; Would only seal from the inside.” She continued, not knowing if she could gather the strength to finish the story once she stopped. “And if the door wasn’t sealed then the containment room wouldn’t have worked.” 

“H-He just locked himself in there? He’s really gone?” Mac asked, his voice growing weaker with each word. 

Riley nodded, eyes filling with fresh tears. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier but it’s been six days and I still find myself checking my phone, just waiting on one of his texts with way too many emojis. Or to hear him laughing all the way from the elevator at the end of the hall.” She huffed a laugh, void of any trace of humor. “The only thing I think could make me feel better is one of his stupid hugs. God, I miss his hugs.” 

There weren’t any words Mac could say to help so he settled for just squeezing her hand a little bit tighter as tears traced their way freely down his face. 

Eventually, though he couldn’t begin to guess how long they stayed like that, the silence became too much. “What now?” He asked, voice hoarse from crying. 

Riley wiped away her own tears and took a shuddering breath. “There’s a, um, a memorial.” She said, pointedly ignoring the way Mac flinched at the word. “In a few days. His sister’s been planning it. So we get you back on your feet, and then just, I don’t know. Take it one day at a time, I guess.” 

Mac just closed his eyes, futilely hoping that when he opened them next his partner would be there beside him. Unfortunately, all he found was that nothing had changed since he was that little five year old kid begging for his Mom to come back. All the wishes in the world couldn’t bring someone back from the dead, no matter how much you loved them. 

Part Two

 

Mac reached up with his free hand and tugged at the tie around his neck. They had never bothered him before, he had long ago accepted that his job as a super spy would occasionally require him to dress outside of his comfort zone of denim and flannel, but now all he kept thinking about was his partner’s aversion to them. Silk nooses, he always called them. Mac was finally beginning to understand why. 

He was standing near the front of the church, shaking hands and accepting careful hugs, mindful of his sling and still sore ribs. He had his back strategically turned away from the copious amount of photographs Jack’s sister had organized for the memorial. He had already experienced the heart-wrenching pain of looking at them once, seeing his friend’s smiling face staring back at him from different stages of his life, and he had no desire to see them again. It made the whole thing seem too real, all those pictures and flowers arranged around the casket. An empty one, at that. There was no body to bury. It was just a symbol, a prop, like something from one of Bozer’s old movies. All that was left of Jack Dalton were the ashes being shipped back to Texas for a private family ceremony at his grandparent’s ranch. He had been invited, of course, but denied the invitation. He didn’t think he had it in him to sit through more than one of these services. 

Searching for something to divert his attention, he found himself focusing on anything other than the casket behind him. From counting the panes in the stained glass pictures adorning the tops of each window to attempting to calculate the number of support beams hidden beneath the whitewashed plaster of the ceiling, he was running out of visible distractions. 

Turning his attention to audible, he forced himself to pay attention to the constant soundtrack that, once again, Jack’s sister had arranged. It had been playing when he walked through the doors and hadn’t stopped since, just a pause to switch songs; all of them melancholy, classic rock ballads that he was sure Jack would have approved of. The current one, a slow song with a haunting guitar riff, someone singing about being dust in the wind, hit a little too close to home and he shook his head, forcing himself to stop listening. He could practically hear Jack hounding him for not knowing who it was singing, promising him he was going to make him listen to their greatest hits album next time they took a road trip… 

“Hey, man.” A soft voice spoke at his shoulder. He quickly slapped on his best It’s hard but I’m doing fine, really, thanks for asking look before turning, only to let it slip away when he saw it was only Bozer at his side. 

“You wanna come sit down?” He nodded toward the rows of pews. "It’s gonna start soon.” 

Mac pulled himself out of his own head long enough to really look around the room, at all the people who had cared about his partner enough to be there. Jack’s Delta Force team lined the back of the church, choosing to remain standing at attention instead of sitting. There had been a collective hush that fell over the already quiet crowd when they entered the building as a group, quickly finding Mac amongst the guests to pay their respects. Most people had steered clear, intimidated by the men, but Mac had greeted each one with a handshake, their pain in their eyes quickly proving Jack’s Delta’s don’t cry, man belief wrong. 

Most of the rest of the pews were filled with friends. Some, well known, like Cage, all the way from Australia and Sara and her husband Jeff. Kono and Chin arrived from Hawaii and Mac was finally introduced to the infamous Steve McGarrett. Charlie had taken a leave from EOD training to attend and the Colton family nearly took up an entire row, leaving only room for Riley and Diane at the end. Matty and Leanna were holding their seats, near the front of the aisle, but the rest of the building was filled nearly to capacity. Old friends of Jack’s that Mac had never met, from high school and college were there, seamlessly mixed among the countless Phoenix agents and techs and soldiers who had served alongside Jack. That wasn’t surprising, everyone adored Jack. What Mac hadn’t expected though, was the sheer number of civilians that were in attendance. People whose faces he vaguely remembered saving, from his years working at DXS and then later Phoenix. He didn’t know how they had heard about Jack’s passing, let alone how they caught wind of the memorial service, but they were there to thank him one last time. 

The first few rows, the ones closest to where Mac and Bozer were standing, were filling up with members of the Dalton family, most he recognized, some he didn’t. Jack’s niece and nephew were playing with matchbox cars in the floor, racing the tiny vehicles between their family members shoes, blissfully oblivious to the somber event surrounding them. For a moment Mac envied them of that innocence until he realized that the young ages that allowed them to not understand tragedy would also probably keep them from having any memories at all of their Uncle Jack. That hurt Mac like a dagger to the chest, the thought of not knowing Jack. As much pain as he was in now he still wouldn’t trade away the past seven years of his life to ease it. 

He took a final look around the room, at the sea of black dresses and suit jackets, and all of a sudden it became too much. “I… I can’t, Boze.” He turned panicked eyes toward his friend, hoping that he would understand. “I can’t do this.” And with that Mac, injuries forgotten, turned and jogged down the aisle, ignoring the crowd of heads that turned to stare at his exit. He would be forever grateful to Caleb Worthy, who upon seeing him heading towards the church doors stepped out of the line the Delta soldiers had formed and opened the door for him without saying a word or trying to stop him. He just gave Mac a knowing nod and shut the door softly behind him. 

Part Three

“You would have hated it, man.” Mac declared, finally tugging his tie free and discarding it in the grass by his side. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was nice and all. It just wasn’t you. Too formal, ya know? Stuffy, depressing, no free booze.” He sighed, staring at the marble tombstone in front of him, shiny and new, placed in reverence beside Jack’s father’s grave. He found his eyes constantly retracing the letters of his best friend’s name over and over again, not nearly enough years between the two dates listed below. “Not that this is much better. No offense, I just still don’t see the appeal of this.”

“Have we resorted to talking to ourself now, Angus?” An all too familiar voice, though incredibly far from the one Mac was longing to hear, spoke from behind him. “Better not let the rest of the little Phoenix family hear you.” His voice dropped to a conspiritorial whisper. “That’s a sign of a psychotic break. Or so the other fellows in the psych ward tell me.”

“Murdoc.” Mac greeted the man blandly, not bothering to turn and look at him. “What are you doing here?” 

“Paying my respects, of course. I assumed I wouldn’t exactly be welcomed at dear Jack’s memorial with open arms.” He replied. “The real question here, Angus, is why are you here? I thought you would be grieving with everyone else until later this afternoon.” 

“I couldn’t stay there,” Mac admitted bitterly, knowing that he shouldn’t even be speaking to the man but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Murdoc stepped closer, the hem of his trench coat breaking into Mac’s peripheral vision. “He was a good man.” He said. “Honorable. That’s a rare trait to find in today’s world.” 

Mac snorted in disbelief. “Coming from the man who tried to kill him on how many occasions?” 

“Oh several.” He admitted easily. “And while I did have plans to take him off the board, MacGyver, I never intended for our game to end this early. I respected him too much for that. Him being taken from us so soon is a tragedy, plain and simple.” 

“I didn’t want to sit through his actual funeral, Murdoc, I definitely don’t want to have one here with you,” Mac said with a tired sigh. “Just leave. Before I come to my senses and call someone to take you back into custody.” 

“I already told you. I’m here to pay my respects.” He said, clearly unphased my Mac’s half-hearted threat. He elegantly dropped to sitting, less than a foot away from the younger man. “I won’t stay long, I’m sure someone will be along shortly to check up on you, and for someone as smart as you are, Angus, this is a very obvious hiding spot.” 

“I’m not hiding,” Mac said, dropping his head back to rest against the stone wall they were leaning against and turning his head slightly, looking at the empty spot next to him across from Jack’s father’s tombstone. “I just… I miss him.” 

He felt Murdoc nod beside him but the other man stayed silent. 

They stayed that way, silent, side by side, each lost in their own thoughts until Mac finally spoke. “This all began when you were hired to murder me. You remember that?” 

He heard the smile creep into Murdoc’s voice. “Some of my fondest memories, Angus. The realization that I had finally found someone capable of challenging me? Absolutely thrilling. But why do you ask?” 

“Would you now? I mean, right here. If I asked you?” Mac’s voice was soft and as broken as Murdoc had ever heard it. 

“Angus MacGyver are you asking me to take your life?” He asked. It wasn’t often that people surprised him but this was the last thing he had expected to hear. 

“Hypothetically,” Mac assured, though when he turned and finally met Murdoc’s eyes it was clear that it hadn’t been a spur of the moment question. “Just asking.” 

“No.” He answered gently, shaking his head. “I have many a vision about being the one to snuff out your flame, and while the image of your family finding your lifeless body on your best friend’s grave is a poetic one, the answer is still no.” 

“Because I asked you to?” Mac asked, genuinely curious. He was in no way prepared to actually end his life that afternoon but he would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind quite often in the past few days. 

“Because after our first evening together, Angus, this stopped being just a job for me,” Murdoc stressed. “Taking your life, and I fully intend to be the one who has that honor, isn’t something I take lightly. Killing you now? There’s no beauty in that.” 

Mac nodded, relief overwhelming the slight disappointment he was feeling at Murdoc’s rejection. 

“Are you really that broken by his death?” The older man asked, head tilted toward the side, puzzled, as he examined Mac’s face. “That you’re contemplating suicide?” 

“It was just a question.” Mac turned away, nimble fingers plucking strands of grass from the well-manicured lawn. “I didn’t say I was considering actually doing it.” 

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second, Angus.” He argued. “I know you. Better than you know yourself. Better than anyone, except for maybe our dearly departed Jack. There was intent in that query. You miss him that much.” 

“So much it feels like I can’t breathe.” Mac agreed. “I went to his apartment yesterday, thinking that would help. It didn’t. So I thought maybe the funeral, I don’t know they’re supposed to give you some kind of closure, right? I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin being stuck there.” 

“So you came here?” Murdoc pressed on, entranced by the unforeseen vulnerability the young man beside him was showing. 

“His dad.” Mac said, pointing to the older of the tombstones in front of them. “He would come here all the time, especially after a rough mission, would talk to him for hours.” Mac smiled. “It's like he felt him here, you know? I want that. To be able to find a piece of him somewhere. I don’t know if I can keep going without it.”

“Well, he’s not here.” Murdoc said, staring at the shining slab of marble in front of him. “Spirit, soul, essence, whatever you’re searching for it’s not here beneath that piece of rock, I can tell you that.” 

Mac nodded somberly. “I know. I could tell the minute I got here. But I’m out of ideas.” 

“Hence your suicidal inquiries.” The older man said, finally understanding. “Have you considered returning to work?” 

Mac huffed a wry laugh. “It took everything I had to get up this morning and put on this stupid suit. Do you seriously think I’m going back to work any time soon? And without my partner?” He shook his head. “No way I could do it.”

“Oh, I disagree, Angus.” Murdoc said. “If you’re looking for a piece of your partner perhaps you will never find it in a place. Maybe it’s an action, that will bring you peace.” 

“What do you mean?” Mac asked. 

“Well he was your partner first, right? That’s where your bond was forged?” 

“Galvanized through hardship.” Mac agreed, quoting the words Jack had thrown at James MacGyver when he was taking credit for their partnership. 

“Well then get up!” Murdoc exclaimed. “Stop sulking here in this bone garden and go grieve with the rest of Jack’s loved ones. Focus on getting yourself healthy again. Then get back out there, saving the world one bad guy and one paperclip at a time. I’ll bet you’ll find Jack’s a lot closer than you think.” 

“Why are you helping me?” Mac asked suddenly, turning to stare at Murdoc with the first glimpse of the usual fire in his eyes. “What are you gaining from this?” 

With that Murdoc stood, brushing the remnants of grass of his pants and smiled down at Mac. “I already told you, this is all a game for me. One I fully intend to win. I’m going to kill you one day. The very idea thrills me with more joy than you will ever know. But it’s not a victory if you surrender.” He smiled a maniacal grin. “Well, I think that concludes our little therapy session. Be seeing you, Angus.” And he walked away. 

“Whatever happened to the whole ‘You go kaboom, I go kaboom’ thing, huh?” Mac asked, looking up at the sky, once he was sure the older man was gone. “You were always going on and on about me taking too many risks, how I was willing to throw myself into danger to keep someone else from getting hurt. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. He’s right though, isn’t he? Murdoc. About me going back to work? Just the thought of it though, man… Going out into the field without you watching my six? Every once and a while was one thing but never having my overwatch out there? That’s terrifying. But who's to say you won’t be there, watching out for me.” He looked around at the neat rows of tombstones surrounding him. “You’re certainly not here.” 

With that he stood up, stuffing the now terribly wrinkled tie into his pants pocket, and laid a hand on top of the stone bearing his partner’s name, smooth and warm from the sun. “I hope you’re with your dad, Jack. I really do. Maybe that’s something good that came from all this, you finally getting to see him again. Have a beer or two up there for me, okay? And don’t worry about me too much. It’s hard but I think I’m gonna be alright.” 

In a move he had witnessed Jack do countless times, he pressed a kiss to his closed fist before tapping it on the tombstone. “Love you, big guy.” He whispered as a tear landed on the marble. “One more fist bump for the road.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry. Don’t hate me too much? I just needed to get that off my chest.


End file.
